


Alive

by von_gikkingen



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Spider-Man: Far From Home, Character Death Fix, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Quentin Beck, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:22:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26792836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gikkingen/pseuds/von_gikkingen
Summary: “How augmented is he?”“He was dead. I had to get something that would rebuild all his damaged organs, never mind recreate his brain functions well enough to make him indistinguishable from the real thing.”“You gave him something Rocket made, didn’t you?” sighs the blond woman.“Why did you make it sound like a bad thing? Isn’t Rocket some kind of genius?”“He is,” confirms Carol glumly.It takes a second but the boy does get the punchline.His expression is priceless. Too bad it’s not enough to distract Beck from the horrible realization that he’d probably be better off dead. Because what the hell did these people turn him into...?
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	Alive

“... and then can we kill him?” says a woman’s voice, in a tone impatient for a confirmation. 

Kill him? No... No, that’s not possible... 

You can’t kill a dead man and going by the last moment he can clearly recall, the pain of bullets tearing their way through him, Beck can’t possibly be anything but dead. 

Which made this nothing but some bizarre hallucination conjured up by his dying brain. 

“We can’t _kill him_ ,” speaks up a second voice. 

And there it is – all the proof he needs that what he’s experiencing is just his brain having fun with the last moments before it shuts down. Because _that_ is unmistakably Peter Parker. 

Hearing him helps Beck fight through his confusion and the rest of the way to truly regaining consciousness. He even manages to force his eyes open, if just for a second. Because this he simply has to see. 

The kid he came so close to killing telling people not to do the same to him. If that’s not a proof this is all just some crazy delusion... 

It would definitely explain the woman with a metal arm and patchy blue skin standing beside the boy, looking every bit the exasperated adult for all her obvious inhumanity. “Peter, you let this man convince you he’s a wizard. Clearly your judgement...” 

“He convinced _everyone_ he’s a wizard,” interrupts the boy. 

“As if I needed another reminder I’m on a planet Quill is from,” utters the blue creature under her breath. “Look, we’ll make sure everyone sees him alive first so they stop treating you like a murderer. But unless you can give me a good reason why he should stay alive after that I’m making sure he never does anything like this again.”

Peter opens his mouth to reply but in the end all he has to offer is a silence and a troubled expression. 

“Not keeping him alive beyond today is not the same as killing him. He’s supposed to be dead. He _was_ dead. He’s only alive because that’s what needed to be done to clear your name...” the woman adds, her tone not unkind. Even if she follows it by muttering something about a waste of good nanotech under her breath, giving Beck a disgusted look. Her expression immediately telling him two things – that he made an enemy the moment he became a threat to the boy and that she did _not_ miss him regaining consciousness. 

“Can I suggest something...?” joins in another voice, making the blue woman look away before she can do anything worse than glare at him. 

It’s a testament to just how confused by all this he is that it took for her to speak for him to register the third person in the room. A blond woman wearing one of those form-fitting outfits that just scream superhero, even if her expression is nowhere near serious enough to complete the look. There’s a smile on her face that seems to be threatening to grow openly amused at the slightest provocation.

“You didn’t do anything, Carol,” replies the blue woman tonelessly. “So no, you _don’t_ get to have a say.”

“I offered to let him have some of my blood. It’s not my fault you were all done bringing him back from the dead by the time I got here.” 

“But we didn’t though. Did we? He wasn’t like... _dead_ dead,” says Peter, uncertainly looking around for confirmation. “Right? _Nebula_?” 

“Of course he was,” she replies tonelessly even as behind her Carol openly grins at this little exchange.

Peter, meanwhile, seems ready to have a meltdown over the revelation. “Oh god... Did we make him into a...?” 

“We didn’t make him into a zombie, Peter,” interjects Carol before the boy starts getting properly hysterical. “We wouldn’t do that. The last thing this planet needs is a zombie wizard.” 

“Which is why we’re going to kill him as soon as we’re done telling the world that you didn’t.” 

“Okay, _why_ are you so set on that? Is he reminding you of an ex or something?” says Carol, sounding genuinely curious even as she’s once again struggling not to start smiling too openly. 

“I'm staying right here until this is dealt with,” replies Nebula, deadpan. “That means leaving the biggest idiots in the galaxy without supervision.” 

There is a silence. A long second of it. Silence that Carol ends by turning to the boy and in a tone that is almost too serious says, “Peter, honey, we need to settle on what we’re going to do with him. _Fast_.” 

“He should go to prison, shouldn’t he? I mean... I suppose telling people he’s magic isn’t really a crime...” 

“If I have to come back here again because he broke out and tried to steal some more Stark tech...” mutters Nebula darkly, obviously not liking that as a solution. She would prefer something a lot more final and makes no secret of it. 

“That’s not happening,” says Carol quickly, pointing at him while adding a quick, slightly amused, “Not an actual wizard.” 

There is no answer, not in so many words, but Nebula doesn’t look anywhere nearer to taking killing him off their list of options. 

So this is the price he’s going to pay for surviving what he most certainly should not have survived, Beck realizes. Having no say in what’s going to happen to him. Remaining silent while a trio of strangers decide his future. 

Not that he feels capable of forming words just yet. Or having any illusions about whether any of them would bother to listen to what he has to say. Except maybe the boy. Who’s going to argue the least violent option no matter how unreasonable it is under the circumstances. That’s what made him such an easy target. 

It was probably also what made these two far more formidable heroes drop everything and cross half the galaxy as soon as they heard he was in trouble. Because how could they not feel protective over someone that unbearably naive...? 

Even Stark wasn’t immune and with him gone Peter was in no way out of allies. It was a miracle his plans got as far as they did before Nebula heard and decided to put a stop to things. And the story most certainly would end there if that was the case. She looked ready to end him right now, even though he was too weak to pose any threat. “Can’t be a prison on this planet, of course,” she says, her black eyes never leaving Beck. 

“What?” says Peter, blinking in surprise. 

“It wouldn’t be fair to the other prisoners,” shrugs the blue woman. Sounding like she doesn’t expect she’ll have to explain why, not to her companions and definitely not to the person whose future she’s deciding. 

“ _Oh_ ,” says Carol, for once not amused as she takes in Nebula’s meaning. “How augmented is he?” 

“He was _dead_. I had to get something that would rebuild all his damaged organs, never mind recreate his brain functions well enough to make him indistinguishable from the real thing.” 

“You gave him something Rocket made, didn’t you?” sighs the blond woman. 

“Why did you make it sound like a bad thing? Isn’t Rocket some kind of genius?” 

“He is,” confirms Carol glumly. 

It takes a second but the boy does get the punchline. 

His expression is priceless. Too bad it’s not enough to distract Beck from the horrible realization that he’d probably be better off dead. Because what the hell did these people turn him into...? 

*** 

“And that’s about it.” 

“What?” 

“You wanted to know how I ended up here. _That’s_ how. I pissed off a bunch of... Avengers,” he says, the bitterness of the last word something he can hardly do anything about. 

It of course means nothing to his new acquaintance, a Kree woman with blue skin and hair a dark but startling shade of pink. Much like the rest of the galactic society she only has some vague ideas about the place where the battle against Thanos was fought – and lost – and whose greatest heroes managed to undo what for so long seemed permanent damage to the universe. 

It’s all nothing but a story to most. Earth is too distant a place for the beings he’s surrounded by these days to know too much about. What they do know makes them show him a certain degree of deference – most of them having gotten the wrong impression that all people of Terra are formiddable enough to be capable of taking on a titan. 

“You know...” says the woman, “I’m pretty sure all I said was _what’s your story_. Didn’t expect the whole thing. Not that it wasn’t interesting,” she clarifies with a soft smile. 

He frowns, trying to figure out what is she trying to tell him. Something that’s getting lost in translation, clearly. Because thanks to the implant they gave him he does understand the alien tongue she speaks perfectly - and still he’s getting the impression he’s missing whatever she’s trying to get across. 

An impression only further confirmed by the look of impatience briefly crossing her face. 

“Let’s start over,” she says after a moment’s thought. “Hi. I’m Ari’El.” 

“Quentin,” he replies automatically, even as he can’t help smiling at realising that’s a Disney princess name. A joke that might take a while to explain to someone this alien and so he decides not to share that observation. 

“And you’re here because no prison on your homeworld can hold you and the only visitor you get is a daughter of Thanos that comes here just to be disappointed in the fact no one shivved you yet,” she says, summing up his situation nicely. 

“Pretty much,” he says. “Why are you here?” 

“Embezzlement. I mean... that’s why I’m here in Kyln 2.0,” she clarifies.

“I thought this place was called...” 

“Yeah, but it’s basically just Kyln all over again. They’re not getting us to call it anything else. Oh, the Kyln was a prison in Xandarian space. A bit... notorious...” she says when she realizes now it’s him that has no idea what it is she’s telling him. “The kind of place where keeping the inmates alive is no one’s priority.” 

“That sounds about right,” he nods, thinking of the last few months spent in this place. 

“It’s been destroyed a while back. Your blue friend had a hand in that, actually.” 

“What?” he frowns, now really lost. 

“Nebula?” says the Kree. “Yeah, she wasn’t much of a hero back then. Came _this_ close to being complicit to a genocide,” she gestures, her fingers nearly touching. “If that psycho Ronan had his way.” 

“That’s... interesting to know,” he replies. Because it really is. 

He doesn’t have that many ways to amuse himself in his current circumstances. The infrequent visits by Nebula are about the only diversion he gets. And as fun as it’s been to see her furious on the other side of an energy shield, hating the fact she can’t get at him, he didn’t know her nearly well enough to anger her that often. It never occurred to him to question the other prisoners on the subject... 

“Honestly, to hear that now she’s someone who’ll go into such lengths to help some terran child... People really do change, don’t they?” grins Ari’El. ”But we’re getting away from the subject,” she adds, frowning at him as though she suspects he’s letting her get side-tracked on purpose. 

Meanwhile Beck doesn’t even know what subject it is they are supposed to be on... “I don’t think I follow you,” he admits, just to do something about that unhappy frown on her face. 

“That much has been clear,” she sighs. And then, in the next moment, she’s no longer sitting at the end of his bed, leaning comfortably against the wall. She crosses the space separating them in an unhurried manner that makes him think she’s trying not to startle him with any too sudden motion. She even hesitates a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning in – until her face is so close to his a few stray hairs tickle his cheek. 

For whatever reason all he can think about then are her eyes. They seemed so black from a distance and yet up close he sees them for the deep, dark blue they really are. And he finds nothing particularly inhuman looking back at him from their depths.

That’s as far as he manages to get with that thought before he can feel her lips against his, in an act so hesitant it almost doesn’t feel like a kiss. Not until he takes charge, responding to the brief, gentle contact she offered with something far less restrained. Pulling her against him without quite realising, far too lost in the taste, the sensation of her lips, the simple but overwhelming intimacy of the moment. And there’s no resistance from her, no sign he should stop what he’s doing. 

He doesn’t. Not until seconds later, feeling lightheaded as he parts from her. “Not too alien to misunderstand that,” she says, a mischievous smile tugging at those blue lips. “You know, it usually takes me a lot less time to get my point across...” 

“You... didn’t come here to talk,” he says, thinking back to their conversation. 

“I really didn’t,” she confirms. “Not that it wasn’t fun. Just...” 

“Not the kind of fun you’re looking for,” he finishes for her. And it’s impossible to say the words without matching her smile. 

Because things were already way more bizarre than any human could be reasonably expected to take. Just the fact he was literally back from the dead. The nanotech enhancement keeping him that way probably made him something closer to Nebula than any real flesh-and-blood human. And then there was this insane complex floating in space and the multitude of aliens that shared it with him. It was all far too much – even before he found one of the aliens in his arms. 

So why was it so easy to accept? Why didn’t it give him more of a pause, the idea of this woman whose species he knew next to nothing about, whose taste, still lingering in his mouth, was undeniably not human... 

Was it simply because she was so exotic and forward about what she wanted? So warm for all that her skin was such a cold shade of blue... 

He didn’t know. Pondering those questions wasn’t what he wanted to be doing right now.

“Why did you waited to do that?” he says, rather than act on the impulse to kiss her again.

“I thought it might be customary among your people to... talk...” she says vaguely. Making him realise he’s exactly as alien to her as she is to him. That they’re struggling with the same uncertainties here. Not that it’ll be enough to stop what’s about to happen... 

Because he finds he wants this woman. This creature whose colouring will make it impossible to forget, even for a moment, that they’re not of the same kind. And yet it makes no difference. The shape of her under that atrociously yellow prison garb is thoroughly desirable to him. Just looking at her is making his heart beat faster. “Next time just tell me to shut up,” he tells her. “That’s perfectly acceptable among my people.” 

“Good to know,” she grins. Shifting her weight a little, adding some distance between them. 

The disappointment he feels seeing her do that is immediate and overwhelming. But not as overwhelming as the pleasure at the realization she was only trying to get some more space to manoeuvre in. Because she’s working on lifting his shirt up over his head before he even knows what’s going on. The look on her face as she takes in the sight of his bare chest is hardly unfamiliar. Nothing alien in that hunger. He feels it himself. It’s the thing that’s making all his decisions for him now. 

It’s intoxicating, the taste her kisses leave behind. Not human, no, but pleasant for all its unfamiliarity. All his senses are in agreement before long. The feel of her skin, the heavy, pheromone-laden scent of it, the silken softness of her hair around his fingers – every last thing about her is desirable. Alien, yes. Incomparable to any of the lovers that came before. But those are reasons to keep going rather than to stop. 

“Go on,” she whispers in his ear when he suddenly hesitates, stopping short of slipping his fingers under the waistband of her baggy pants. “Oh,” she says only, when his expression tells him what it was that stopped him. 

She gets up off the bed before he has the chance to react, letting the garment fall to the floor and immediately making just as quick a work of slipping out of her underwear. “See. No surprises,” she says only, matter-of-fact enough. 

“I didn’t think there were any...” he starts to say. 

“Yes you were,” she replies. With a smile, though, one that tells him she doesn’t find it anything but natural. 

This is probably where he should assure her there are no surprises for her either. Seems only fair. But seeing those long, well-muscled legs, he can do nothing but reach forward to touch that blue skin. Pull this gorgeous inhuman creature onto his lap so she can feel the hardness that’s been aroused just by the sight of her. 

His hands trace their way up her thighs, slowly, as he gives himself the time to savour the moment. Not the softness of the skin as much as the way her breath catches at the contact. Her eyes half-closed. Her expression undeniably that of pleasure. When she leans into him he can feel the hardness of her nipples through the fabric of her shirt. A shirt that she should not still be wearing because the idea of anything separating their bare skin is suddenly intolerable. 

“Take it off,” he tells her. “Take it all off.” 

Not waiting he’s already pulling it up over her head with one hand while running the other over one small, firm breast. Her nipples are a darker shade of blue than the rest of her skin, indigo almost, and he digs his fingers into her hips to keep her in place while he gets his mouth around one of them, teasing it with his tongue. 

Feeling her shudder in his arms at the contact brings a smile to his face. And the thought that there might be some unbreachable barrier between what their respectable species experience as pleasure now only seems laughable. 

“Quentin,” she says, the sound of his name just a little off the way she pronounces it. And there’s more she wants to say, but never says it. Never gets the words past the moan that comes out of her throat in the next instant, a brief but gratifying to hear exclamation of her pleasure. 

He runs his tongue over that dark blue nipple again before looking up to meet her eyes. To naje sure she wasn’t trying to make him stop. The eyes that meet his assure him there is nothing she wants less. 

Hands already braced against his shoulders to steady herself, he knows she’s about to lift herself up off his lap, to put her feet on the floor and step back. As hard it is to take his hands off that warm skin he does so. Let’s her create a distance, just a little, just enough for him to be able to stand up too. And then she’s tugging his pants down, as unhesitant as she’s been all along. Blue fingers closing around the hardness of him almost before the prison garb is done falling to the floor. “What?” she says, in response to something she just glanced in his expression. 

“Just... _really_ glad I didn’t die...” he says.

Which is one way to sum up his thoughts. It’s an understatement, of course. He accepted the fact he survived, having no other options. But he wasn’t _alive_. Not that day in the hospital, with a bunch of superheroes arguing about whether to just dispose of him, and not on any day that followed. 

Not until just now. 

_This_ was alive. The hand tracing the scars left behind by his bullet wounds was making him feel alive. The way he could feel her pulse through her skin, making him all the more aware of his own. Of the fact that his heart was beating. It might be as much metal as living tissue now but it was still a living, pulsing thing. Something to be grateful for. 

Which was going to make things awkward the next time Nebula showed up to spend some quality time telling him how well Peter is doing, safely half the galaxy away and forever out of reach. No way the words _thank you_ won’t be the first out of his mouth as soon as he sees her... 

“Can I...?” Ari’El asks. Her eyes alive with desire, making it so clear all she wants to do is straddle him again, in a far more satisfying way this time. But still she asks. Still she can’t forget there might be rules to how his kind does these things – rules she doesn’t want to break, even if it means to deny herself what she wants. 

“You can do anything you want to me...” he tells her. 

She does. 

The rocking motion of her hips is slow at first, deliberately slow, a sinuous movement that is building up its way to satisfaction only gradually. He lets her have her way, kissing her neck, her cheeks, tasting those fullm blue lips time and again. Finding he can fight down the instinct to drive himself into her faster, harder, with animal urgency. This is a differnt kind of pleasure, but pleasure nonetheless, in its own unhurried way. 

He cups her breasts, smiling at the sound she makes in response. The barely perceptible way her motions quicken telling him to keep his hands exactly where they are. “How are your people not renown across the galaxy for this...” she says, a breathless whisper of a sentence that ends in another moan. And he has to stifle a chuckle against her shoulder.

Tasting the sweat on her skin and finding it as intoxicating as everything else about her. She’s the perfect contrast – icy blue skin and still she’s the warmest thing in his universe. 

A subtle change in her breathing makes him wonder if she’s nearing climax already, even as the way she moves grows less controlled, more urgent. Eyes closed as she lets her body’s needs decide the way she writhes against him. And then he no longer has to wonder. A shudder runs through her, making her arch her back, making her cry out in pleasure. Nothing his implant can translate for him, just a noise. But one he’s sure he wants to make her make again. 

“I can wait,” he says when she looks at him with a question in her eyes. Brushing a stray lock of hair from her face before adding, “Catch your breath.”

She opens her mouth to answer but his finger across her lips stops her. There’s only the sound of heavy breathing between them while she waits for the thunderous beat of her heart to slow down. 

The look in her eyes tells him all he needs to know without her ever saying a word. That she isn’t going to just leave now that she’s been satisfied. That this thing between them was by no means finished. Perhaps not even after he’s been taken care of. If they didn’t exhaust one another too badly, if their bodies could be roused again, there was going to be more pleasure to be had on this uncomfortable prison cot. It’s as good as a promise, that look in her eyes. 

A promise that his night is only just getting started... 

*** 

“... clearly planning a prison break.” 

“Trust me, escaping this place is the last thing I want,” he says, certain that his smile is only further infuriating his occasional visitor. Already Nebula is narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion. 

“What makes you think he’s up to something?” asks the Avenger she brought as her plus one this time around, for whatever reason. Overweight and with facial hair that looked like it could house small woodland creatures, Thor looked nothing with the god of thunder teenager girls of Earth have been drooling over not that many years ago. But for all he looked a mess at least he didn’t appear ready to start accusing Beck of masterminding this facility’s next prison riot and wasn’t _that_ a refreshing change. 

“The smirk,” says Nebula only, the black orbs of her eyes nothing but distrust as she glares at him. 

“Yeah, this isn’t my _I’m going to escape this place and have my revenge_ smirk,” he says, having a hard time hiding how much he’s enjoying this conversation. “This is my _I’m going to have a threesome as soon as this visit is over_ smirk, if you must know.” 

It’s absolutely priceless, the look on Nebula’s face as she’s trying to figure out if what he just said could be taken as a reason to treat him to some more of her death glare. Thor, clearly wondering if he just heard what he thinks he did, is no less hilarious a sight. 

There is a long, stunned silence hanging over them before Nebula mutters something about how she never should have brought him back from the dead. 

“You definitely never should have used the stuff you did. The way it augmented me...” he says, grinning to let his visitors know they should probably be glad he won’t be saying any more than that. 

He wasn’t even lying to get a raise out of them. There really were changes to his biology he was very aware of ever since Ari’El came into his life. Namely in the stamina department. The offhandedly mentioned threesome was not some lie designed to shock the two Avengers that dropped by for a visit – it really was what he had planned for tonight. By no means a rare occurrence, either... 

He was sure the Kree was only joking that first time she told him that if he keeps wearing her out the way he did she’ll have to bring a friend next time. She _wasn’t_. She was already the best thing that happened to him since the day he came back from the dead – and finding out she did not mind to share him with others only made her all the more exciting. Thinking back to the conversation they had earlier, about which of the new transfers looked like they might talk her into sharing their bed tonight, he could only grin. Probably giving his two visitors the impression he was laughing at them but, well, nothing much he could do about that, was there? 

“Lot less satisfying, isn’t it? Finding out that having someone locked up isn’t the same as punishing them,” he says, winking at Nebula. 

“You think you won somehow,” she replies him in a frosty tone. 

“Won? No. No, I pretty conclusively lost,” he says, lifting up his prison uniform to let her see the scars marring his skin. “It’s not my fault I lived to tell the tale. It’s _yours_. And... You know, I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for that.” 

“You are lucky there’s a barrier between us, Beck.” 

“Oh, I know that,” he says, matter-of-factly. It’s not like he ever doubted her capacity to kill him with her bare hands – and enjoy the experience very much. “Very lucky,” he can’t keep himself from adding. 

She just looks at him for a long, uncomfortable second, her eyes boring into him. Then a change comes over her features and he knows she finally figured it out. That he’s really not worthy of her anger... 

“Enjoy the rest of your life... Mysterio,” she adds, for once without disgust. There is only tired resignation in the way she says the name. Only a kind of acceptance. 

“You know... I think I really will.” 

With an eyeroll at that she turns on the heel and heads for the door. And that’s that it seems. Another visit successfully survived. 

Still he can’t resist turning to the overweight Asgardian with, “I’m just gonna say it – that one really needs to get laid. Might do wonders about that temper of hers.” 

Thor opens his mouth to answer before, much like his blue friend, deciding Beck is just not worth it. And that’s the second Avenger annoyed into leaving. Good. He already wasted more time on them than he wanted. And he had far better things to do... 


End file.
